Everything You Want
by Vesper Gray
Summary: Q knows what he wants and knows he can't ever have it. But when Bond gets hurt, things change. 007/Q. Set after Skyfall.
1. Chapter 1

007 shook his head. "I have no idea how the gun broke, Q."

"No idea?" Q said dryly. "You just picked it up and it was broken?"

"Right," James said with a quick nod. "Really, it must have been one of those terrorists who broke it. It wasn't me."

"If I had a pound for every time I heard that from you, I'd have...er, well, I'd have a lot of pounds." Q stammered, silently cursing himself for not being wittier. 007 possessed the uncanny ability to make Q absolutely tongue tied. "You never bring anything back in one piece."

"It's just not my style." Bond shrugged lazily. "In any event, I've returned your gadgets and now i'm going home. Have a good night."

Q briefly imagined Bond's apartment. There was an address in Bond's file and even though he knew it was unethical, Q had drove past it a few times. It was nice apartment complex in a nice district. He imagined the inside to be large and spacious, with only a few pieces of expensive furniture and a fully stocked bar. Bond's place wouldn't be complete without a huge bed to fuck in, would it? Possibly a sex swing and a few chains hanging around, too.

"Oh, wait." Bond stopped short, interrupting Q's daydream. "I need a gun."

Q arched his eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose you do, since you broke the one you had."

Bond smiled that knee-shaking smile and Q wanted to punch him in the face. Sometimes he thought Bond knew exactly how Q felt about him and played on that attraction to get what he wanted.

"I'll give you a new one when you come in tomorrow." Q turned back to his computer.

"Tomorrow?" Bond's voice was almost shrill. "You expect me to go back to my apartment with no weapon? You've got to be joking."

"And you expect me to believe you don't have several guns at your apartment?" Q countered.

"Maybe...you know me so well."

Q refused to look up, even though he was having to clench every muscle in his entire body to stop himself from looking at Bond. _Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't look up and see that smile that makes you weak. He flirts with everything. You saw him flirt with a dog yesterday. _

Bond rolled his eyes. "Are you really not going to issue me another gun? What if I run into a terrorist on the way home?"

Q sighed heavily. "007, I can issue you another gun, but it won't be a Walther. I'll have to wait until in the morning to get one of those and I know it's your favorite." He mentally kicked himself again. _Could you sound more like a twelve-year-old girl? 'It's your favorite?'. Really, Nathan? That's the best you could do?_

It was Bond's turn to sigh. "Fine, I'll wait until tomorrow. But if I die before I reach my flat, it's on your conscience."

"Noted." Q watched him walk away. Shoulders back, head held high, stride steady. He wondered what it was like to possess so much confidence, so much...life.

Q left MI6 an hour later. He often pulled longer hours at the office, but he did have a date after all. A first date, at that. Aren't first dates the most important?

He couldn't keep his mind off Bond. Even standing in his closet, his thoughts went back to him. How well tailored his suits were. "I'm sure he never has a problem finding clothes to wear," Q muttered to himself as he held up a pair of pants. "It's all suits. With the occasional tuxedo. Lather, rinse, repeat. And he looks perfect all the time."

Q held up a red cardigan and looked in the mirror. "Ugh, not this. Maybe a blue one would be better..." he rifled through his closet again. "And your bloody New Year's resolution was to quit talking to yourself and yet here you are doing it again."

He pulled on the blue cardigan and gave himself the once over. _Better. _He wasn't exactly a veteran dater. He had dated some in University, even had a few actual relationships. But ever since he was hired to Q branch, dating had stopped. Completely. The second he was sent to an art gallery to meet 007, the dating stopped.

When he saw Bond for the first time, his breath halted and he swallowed hard. Hands down, he was the most gorgeous man Q had ever seen. Bond's obvious disdain for him when they first met didn't damper Q's attraction to him.

It was Bond's nature- that dangerous, flirtatious, destructive nature- that drew him in and refused to let him go. Bond's quips and barbs about his age were always followed with crooked smirks and smiles that would make a nun quiver. Their friendship was based on their respect for each other's job- Bond was the trained killer and Q was the brains.

Q knew he was walking a dangerous line. Many a person had fallen for James and ended up dead, crazy, or broken beyond repair. Having a huge crush on a co-worker was never a good idea. Especially a co-worker who was so damaged AND straight. Q wasn't even sure Bond knew he was gay. Q had certainly never brought it up in conversation.

He sprayed some cologne on his wrists and grabbed a coat. The date was set up through a friend- a good friend who had a friend who would be great for Q, blah blah. "Well, here's hoping he will at least be cute." Q locked the front door behind him.

He was cute. Not in a Bond way- _God, Bond is really not the cute type at all- drop dead smoldering hot would be a better description- _but in a good looking guy way. He was nicely dressed and picked a good restaurant- Italian food with great wine. Justin- the date- was a lawyer.

"A lawyer is such a good job!" Q's mum's voice trilled in his head. Definitely the kind of guy his mother would want for him. They talked about movies and music. He found himself only thinking about Bond once or twice. He tried to steer the conversation away from his job- so much of it was shrouded in secrecy, anyway.

"I'd like to see you again, Nathan," Justin said as they stood outside the restaurant. "Maybe I can cook dinner for you sometime. I make an excellent steak."

"Really?" Q smiled. "I do love steak...I might take you up on that."

Justin smiled back and Q knew it was the right time for a kiss. Justin moved toward him and he almost leaned into him, ready for the kiss.

But then he thought about Bond's smile that afternoon, that smile that broke hearts and removed panties. Those brilliant blue eyes sparkling while they argued over the Walther.

Q's heart twisted painfully and he took a step back. "I...I...sorry."

"Bad breakup?" Justin asked knowingly.

"Er...something along those lines." Q lied. "I...I like to take things slow. Is that okay?"

Justin smiled. "Old fashioned, huh? I like that."

Q slowly undressed and stepped in the shower. Justin seemed like a perfectly nice guy. But there was no way he could ever have a relationship with anyone if he didn't stop thinking about Bond.

He closed the eyes and let the water pour over his head. He imagined Bond stepping in behind him and laying kisses all over his neck. He imagined him shoving him against the wall of the shower and...

After Q came, he flopped down naked on his bed. "Well, at least I get to see him in the morning."

He had no idea what the next day would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Q produced the promised Walther. "Please actually bring this one back in one piece."

"Sure thing," Bond agreed quickly as he turned the gun over. "Ammo?"

"Here." Q watched as Bond loaded the gun. "Do you have your earpiece in?"

"Yes. Are you going to spend a half hour lecturing me like you did last time I was chasing a criminal? It was bloody hard enough without you complaining like a little girl."

"I do not complain like a little girl," Q snapped. "And I lectured you because you crashed one of our best Ferrari's while you were chasing said criminal. Lucky for us, we don't have a nice car for you to drive today. Did M give you instructions?"

All humor vanished from Bond's face and he stood up straighter. "Yes. 007 ready for duty."

Q never ceased to be amazed at the complete change Bond could make when it came time to work. Bond looked down at his very expensive watch. "Anything else I need to know?"

"No. Uh, off you go."

As Bond walked off Q called after him, "Make sure you bring the gun back in one piece! I'm not making you another one!"

It was the last time he saw Bond before he ended up in the hosptial.

Q was busy all day tracking Bond's location. He frowned at the computer screen. He pressed the button to call M.

"M."

"007's earpiece doesn't appear to be working," Q told him, annoyed. "It's possible it fell out. I am able to track him on the computer screen but I can't give him directions or orders."

"Is it possible he just turned it off? He's been known to do that."

"No, it's still on." Q pushed a lock of hair out of his face in exasperation. "But we can't seem to hear one another."

"What is his location, Q?"

"About twenty miles from here. The basement of an old hotel, apparently. An abandoned one. Our source said they would be hiding there."

"Keep tracking him."

"Yes, sir."

A loud bang in his ear startled him. "007?" he asked hurriedly.

"Q." Bond's voice sounded strained. "I shot him. The other ran off."

"What's your position? I will send the other agents in pursuit."

"I'm shot."

Q stopped, his hands hovering over the keyboard. "Shot where?"

He heard movement, like Bond was trying to walk- and failing miserably. "Shot where, 007?"

"I'm-," another loud noise. Then another.

"007? I'm sending a medic. Can you hear me?"

Everything was quiet in his ear. "007, are you hurt? What is happening?"

Silence.

Q felt the panic toss around in his stomach. He whirled around to the interns standing about. "Send a medic to 42 Greenbriar Road. Now."

They hesitated for a second, revealing in their first real taste of excitement at MI6. "Damn it, now!" Q screamed and they all scattered.

"007?" he tried asking again. "We are sending a medic."

Still nothing.

_What if he's dead? _

He knew everyone was thinking that. Agents died in the field all the time. Bond had been lucky so far.

Q hated that all he could do was sit around and wait. He stared at that little blinking light that represented Bond on his computer screen. He wished he could tell Bond how he felt, how he cared for him, to beg him to please not go. But the line remained silent.

M's face when he walked in the door thirty minutes later scared Q. His stomach plummeted to his shoes. "Is he dead?" he croaked out. _I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick right here. _

"No. He's alive. They are taking him to the hospital."

Q felt a flicker of relief burning inside him. But... "The hospital? Why not our doctor here at MI6?"

"His injuries are more serious than what can be handled here."

Q wanted to shake M. _Dammit, tell me everything! Tell me what's wrong with him. Bring him here, so I can see him with my own eyes, so I can understand that he is still alive. _"What does that mean, sir?"

"It means, Quartermaster, that when we got to 007, he was unconscious. He was shot in the thigh and appears to have a broken collarbone. He has lost an extensive amount of blood. Even once he arrived at the hospital, he still didn't wake up. They are worried he might lapse into a coma."

"What are the doctors saying?"

"They don't know." M dropped his eyes, his face drawn. "They are going to do surgery. They are doing all they can. But with so much blood lost..."

Q felt the tears building behind his eyes. He knew he couldn't cry in front of M. It would be extremely unprofessional and might make M question his ability to do his job. He cleared his throat and focused on the window. Night time was quickly approaching. He studied the dirty window pane and tried to keep his voice steady and deep. "Will he be safe there? What if the assailant finds him?"

"Yes. He's in a private unit. We will have a guard outside. I will make frequent visits, as will Moneypenny, Tanner, and you. We are the only ones with clearance, besides his doctors. They understand that. They have worked with us before."

M said some other things, but Q didn't hear them. M finally left and Q stood there, trying to process everything. The room felt stifling and unbearably hot.

He quickly made his way to the bathroom, where he threw up all the Earl Grey he had drank in the past year. When he was done, he splashed cold water on his face and turned off the faucet with shaking hands.

He knew he should go home. He knew he should go home and think about something other than work. Something other than Bond. But he found himself at the hospital, nervously approaching Bond's room.

The guard at the door nodded at him and let him in. Q held his breath and entered the room.

James looked dead. That was his first thought.

His second thought was that even severely injured, he was too beautiful for words. His face was clear of scratches, but it was a sickly shade of pale white. A sheet was pulled up to his shoulders, covering the rest of his body. The machines around him beeped steadily. Q examined the IV inserted in his wrist and lightly ran his fingers over Bond's clutched hand.

He glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway and quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets. _You don't want the guard telling all of MI6 that you showed up just to molest Bond while he's unconscious, do you? _

"Have the doctor's been in lately?" Q asked.

"Yes, sir. About once every hour. They say nothing's changed."

Q sighed heavily and stared down at Bond. The guard moved away from the door, as if sensing Q needed room to think.

Q pulled a chair up beside the bed. "James," he whispered, letting the tear finally slide down his cheek. "I know I've never called you that before. And I know you can't even hear me. But if can, somehow, I want you to listen. You've never been good at listening." He swallowed a sob. "I'll be back in the morning before work. I hope you'll be awake. You have to get better. You have to. There's so much I want to tell you. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to. Please get better. Please wake up."

He sat there for a long while, tasting his own tears, before he finally wiped his face. "I have to go. They won't let me stay overnight." He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to crawl in bed with him and stay.

He squeezed his hand one more time. Then the Quartermaster went home to count the hours until he could see James again.


	3. Chapter 3

Q tossed and turned all night. He would fall asleep only to jerk awake a few minutes later, nervously checking his phone. He finally rolled out of bed somewhere around five in the morning. He poured himself a cup of bitter coffee, forgoing the tea.

He tugged on a jacket and headed downstairs. He stopped at a tiny newsstand and bought a newspaper and a magazine about guns. He rode the elevator up to Bond's room, praying and hoping with every molecule of his being. He knew he shouldn't get excited. He knew he would only feel let down if Bond wasn't awake. But he couldn't help getting his hopes up.

He exchanged good mornings with the guard, but this time he closed the door behind him. His heart sank into his shoes and his mouth tasted of disappointment. Bond was still sleeping, his eyes shut, his heart monitor beeping steadily.

Q bit his lip, trying to shove his feelings back inside. _Be strong. You have to be. Crying and feeling depressed won't make him wake up any faster. _

He collected himself by drawing a shaky breath and pulling the chair close to the bed. He held up the magazine. "I didn't think you would want to hear me read the newspaper. I thought this would be more up your alley."

He opened the magazine and balanced it on his knee. "You know, Bond, they say that if you read to people who are in comas, they might, somehow, be able to hear you. Do you think that's true?" he waited a beat, but Bond's face remained impassive and blank.

Q pursed his lips. "I know. You would say that you think it's ridiculous. But I'm going to try it anyway." He began to read article after article on firearms. The sun came up slowly, shining through the window.

He closed the magazine when a nurse came in. "Hello," she smiled, checking Bond's iV. "You're here rather early in the morning."

"Uh, yes." Q nodded, holding up the magazine. "Been reading to him a bit."

She glanced at Q with a knowing look. "Ah. You're his...friend?"

He felt his cheeks heat up. Part of him was shocked that she would think he and Bond were a couple (and glad that James was knocked out and unable to reply) and part of him was flattered she thought he was good enough to be Bond's boyfriend. "Um, no. I mean, yes," he stammered, flustered. "We work together. I um...have to run. To work."

He looked at Bond one last time and hurried out.

The next day at lunch, Eve burst into Q branch, her face flushed. Q looked up, ready to ask her where she wanted to go to lunch, but his words died on his lips when he saw her face.

"Bond woke up!" she announced.

He couldn't help himself. A grin spread across Q's face. _He's awake. _"What?"

"He woke up. I just came back from the hospital. He woke up. It was only for a second and then he was gone again, but he did wake up."

Q studied his shoes. His loafers were new and unscuffed, but he didn't want Eve to see the utter disappointment on his face. She could read his feelings for Bond like a book. He didn't need all of Q branch knowing how he felt, too. "He's already out again?"

"Yes, but the doctors said him waking up was a good thing."

"Did he say anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "It was only a second, Q."

Only a second or no, Q cursed the fact that he hadn't been there. He had never hurried out of work so fast as he did that afternoon.

But Bond was still asleep and silent when he arrived at the hospital. "You can't give up, Nate." Q murmured to himself as he plopped down and began reading the magazine to Bond again.

He read until his voice was hoarse. He finally put it down on the bedside table. "I have to go home."

Nothing. Bond's face, so smooth, looked almost dead. Looking at him wrenched something inside Q. He tried briefly to imagine a life without Bond, without seeing him at work, without having fantasies about him every night.

The thought made him gag. He didn't think he could handle a life like that.

He leaned over and kissed Bond's cheek softly. The skin was smooth and cold under his lips. "Feel better, James. I'll be here in the morning."

When the morning came, Q decided to skip the coffee and just head straight for the hospital. He knew he should feel more tired running off of so little sleep, but he couldn't care about being tired. Not when Bond was lying in a hospital bed, teetering between life and death.

He heard voices in Bond's room as he rounded the corner. His heart began pounding so loud he could feel it in his ears. His throat became dry and scratchy. M was in there. Talking to...

Bond was sitting up in bed. His voice was gravely and his face slightly pinched, but he was alive. And awake. Q took a tentative step into the room, scarcely believing his eyes. He hoped he wasn't dreaming. He was afraid if he made a sound, he would wake up back in his bed.

Bond turned his head and saw Q. Had his eyes always been that blue? Q leaned against the doorframe, his knees shaking.

A small smile flickered on Bond's lips. "Ah, Q. Did you miss having me around?"


	4. Chapter 4

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"I can't believe you have a broken collarbone and the only thing you care about is getting a shave." Q shook his head.

"Just because I'm stuck in this bloody hospital doesn't mean I have to look bad. Some of us care about our appearance," Bond quipped, tilting his head as Q wiped the shaving cream off his face.

"007, has anyone ever told you how metrosexual you are?" Q asked in amusement.

"A _what_?"

"Never mind. There, you're all done."

"How do I look?" Bond grinned.

_Perfect. Gorgeous. Completely, utterly fuckable. _"You look fine, 007." Q placed the razor on the bedside table. "When did the doctor say you will be having surgery?"

"Tomorrow, supposedly." Bond shrugged casually, like he was talking about going to tea. "For my collarbone."

"It's still amazing to me that you don't have internal injuries," Q marveled. "And no signs of brain damage, so far."

"Q, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't have brain damage. I feel fine. I'll be back at work next week."

Q began to respond and shut his mouth quickly. There was no way Bond would be back to work in a week. His collarbone needed time to heal. In a week's time, he would probably be released from the hospital, but would need someone to stay with him at his flat for a while. He wouldn't be returning to work for quite a while. He was sure M had told Bond that. Bond was just choosing to ignore it, as was his way, and Q saw no reason to rock the boat.

Bond had only been awake for three days. No signs of brain injury and he seemed to be on the mend. Q still visited twice a day, bringing news of MI6 and various things to keep Bond busy.

Bond didn't watch TV. He never even turned it on. He wasn't a reader, except for gun magazines, which Q brought for him in droves. He didn't do crosswords. He couldn't draw, since he couldn't use his right hand at the moment. Q wondered if he was going to have to hire a pole dancer to visit him in his hospital room to keep him entertained.

He liked playing cards, of course. Q would always play a game with him. He was hopelessly outmatched by Bond and Bond knew it, but didn't say anything about it. They would play a couple of games, which of course Q would lose.

Apparently he also liked flirting with the nurses. Q came in one day to find a nurse practically drooling in Bond's lap as they laughed together. And he felt his jealousy bubble up in his stomach like acid.

"Alright, you'll be back at work next week. In the meantime, why don't you rest while you're in here? You're too restless."

"It's a waste of time, me being here. They should get on with the surgery and then send me home." He looked at Q curiously. "Where do you live?"

"Why?" Q asked, befuddled.

"I just want to know."

Q weighed the question in his mind. He didn't mind telling Bond, but Jame's wasn't the type to ask a question out of thin air. "About ten minutes from here. It's a nice little flat." He hesitated. "Where do you live?"

"In a nice little flat," Bond smirked in return. "Who do you live with?"

"Live with?"

"A girlfriend?" Bond pressed.

"Uh, um, no." Q pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Do _you_ live with a girlfriend?"

_My God, are we flirting? What is going on here? What is happening?_

"I don't have a girlfriend," Bond shrugged, his expression unreadable. "You know all about my girlfriends, Q. You've read my file."

"I actually don't read that part of my agents' files. Who you date is your business." Of course, he _had_ read most of Bond's files. Beautiful woman after beautiful woman, most of them dead. He wouldn't exactly call them girlfriends...more like casual fucks. Who end up dying.

A small, sexy smile played at the corner on Bond's lips. "Well, I guess I have some secrets still."

Q wanted to melt into the floor. He tried to come up with a witty, flirtatious reply, but Bond changed the subject. "Can you bring me something when you come tomorrow?"

The spell was broken. "Like what?"

"A bottle of liquor. I don't care what kind. I need something to mix in this bloody horrible juice they keep giving me."

"007, I am _not _bringing you alcohol. The doctor would never allow it."

Bond's smile was pleading and charming at the same time. "He doesn't have to know. Just a small bottle, Q."

"Absolutely not." Q rolled his eyes, gathering his coat. "I'll see you tomorrow, 007."

"Please?"

"Maybe-," Q stopped, throwing up his hands. "Oh God, what am I doing? I'm _enabling _you. I'm an enabler." He headed out the door. "I'll see you in the morning, withOUT the alcohol."

"Right," Bond replied, not sounding the least bit convinced.

Q found himself, an hour later, picking up the finest bottle of scotch he could afford. As the cashier rang it up, he could only shake his head.

_This is what happens when you fall for Bond. _


	5. Chapter 5

Q was convinced he had to be hallucinating. It was too simply too strange to be real.

He blinked at M. "You want me to stay with 007. At his flat."

"Yes, Quartermaster," M replied patiently, still scribbling something down on a notepad. "I want you to stay with 007 while he recovers. He can't be there alone, as you know. The doctors have made that quite clear. He needs the help, although we will never get him to believe that."

"We couldn't hire someone to stay with him?"

"It's paramount we keep 007's identity hidden. He is instrumental to our country's security and we can't risk a nurse running off and telling someone about all the goings on at MI6."

"Right..." Q floundered helplessly. "But surely he would do much better with a female agent taking care of him. He won't like having a male caretaker...at all."

M gave Q a level look. "You know the reason why we can't have a female staying with him."

Bond's famous weakness was women. It wouldn't do to have him screwing the woman who was supposed to be taking care of him. Q suppressed a sigh. "Well then, I suppose I'll go stay with him. When is he supposed to be released?"

"Tonight. We've moved a bed for you into the guest room in his flat."

"There wasn't one already in there?"

"Apparently," M's lips twitched, "he doesn't have guests that sleep in a separate bed."

Q had a lot of misgivings about being Bond's housemate- but his lust for Bond made him the most nervous. It was hard enough having to work with the man everyday. It was going to be absolute torture to live with him. And it wasn't even like he could go home to the privacy of his bedroom and jerk off. With Bond right down the hall, there was no way he could.

So until Bond recuperated, Q figured his life was going to be a living hell. On the other hand, his long standing curiosity about Bond's apartment would finally be satisfied. "At least there's one upside," he muttered to himself.

007 was not seeing any upside. He was absolutely pissed when Q walked into his place. "I don't need a bloody babysitter." Bond barked at M.

Q stopped short, holding his suitcase in one trembling hand. "Uh, hi," he managed.

Bond and M both turned to look at him.

"Q," M smiled. "Glad you're here. I was just discussing this...arrangement with 007."

"There is no arrangement. You can send him back home, because no one is staying with me. I'm fine on my own."

While they bickered, Q stole a glance around. To his disappointment, there were no chains or sex swings, but there was a lot of very expensive furniture. Bond didn't have many pieces, but what he owned was quite tasteful. Q debated telling Bond later that his flat looked like a gay man's paradise, but decided that might lead to too many probing questions.

"Q's not going anywhere," M's face was pleasant enough, but his voice was as cold as steel.

"It's my fucking life," Bond bit out, his voice equally cold.

M stared back. "Q's staying here. That's an order, 007."

Q winced inside. Order. Bond's face barely changed, but Q saw his jaw tighten. Bond's stubbornness was solid, but his loyalty to MI6 was even more solid.

The silence stretched on, with M and Bond staring each other down.

Finally, M said "It's only for a couple of weeks, 007. We need to make sure you are cleared for duty before we send you back into the field."

Bond nodded ever so slightly, his blue eyes unblinking.

M turned to Q. "Report to the office in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Q replied dutifully.

Bond was quiet for a long time after M left. He sat on the couch, glowering. Q sat beside him, unsure of what to say. He mulled over several witty comments, but decided against it. Bond certainly wasn't in the mood. "Do you want to play cards?" he asked after twenty minutes had passed.

Bond continued glaring at the wall. "You know I'll kick your ass."

"It's okay. Perhaps I enjoy you kicking my ass."

Bond's eyes glittered slightly, like he was thinking of something amusing. "I wouldn't want to leave you unsatisfied, then."

It felt like flirting. Q refused to think about it. No reason to analyze...banter and call it flirting. Bond would flirt with a potted plant.

Right...?

By the end of the night, Q was exhausted. 007 was a full time job. After losing several rounds of cards (and two hundred dollars to Bond- he had insisted they bet, the smug bastard), Q was ready for bed, but then Bond insisted they have a drink (or three). Q, used to drinking tea in the evening, felt a bursting headache coming on from the whiskey.

Bond insisted he didn't need help, but Q helped him into his bed anyway. "Here, let me help you change your shirt."

"I've got it."

"No, you don't, and don't threaten to kill me. Just hold still."

Q pulled 007's shirt carefully over his head and tried to avert his eyes. It was no use. He took in the abs, then hard chest (still so sexy even bruised and bandaged). He hurriedly pulled another shirt over Bond's head.

"Q, can you try not to kill ME?" Bond groaned.

"Oh, sorry!" Q blushed, realizing a little more care was probably needed with a broken collarbone. "I uh...thought you might be getting cold."

He watched Bond pull a revolver out from under the bed and check to see if it was loaded. He promptly stuffed it under his pillow. Q hid his smile.

He said goodnight and left Bond's room. He went into the living room and cleaned up the dishes and glasses. He placed them in the sink and started to tiptoe back to his room.

He turned abruptly and head back to Bond's room. He crept up to the door and glanced in.

Bond was asleep, all of the blankets kicked onto the floor. He was still, but his fists were clenched tight and his arms were rigid. His pants were barely hanging onto his hips.

Q stepped back quickly, taking a sharp breath. No good spying on your roommate.

He decided a cold shower was in order.

It was no use. As soon as he got in the shower he couldn't resist wrapping his hand around himself. It was too much. He wanted, more than anything, for Bond to come in and take him against the wall. His feelings for Bond...even though he told himself not to think about it, to quit wanting him, he couldn't.

He came with a gasp and sank down into the tub. "This was a bad idea," he whispered to himself as freezing water poured over his face. "Living here isn't going to work at all."


End file.
